Drowning in the Rain
by Mae34
Summary: Sequel to 'Drowning in the Desert': Two NCIS agents are lost in the desert.…I…I…
1. Chapter 1

Tim woke up in a sweat, the traces of his nightmare already leaving him as he panted (he would deny it was crying) hard against his pillow. It was the same nightmare every night since he came back; the same dream where he was surrounded by nothing but cacti, sand, a scorching sun-

-And death.

The sound of rain pounded against his bedroom window and a quote chanted in his mind like a beating drum: _"If I am going to be drowned, if I am going to be drowned, if I am going to be drowned-"_


	2. Chapter 2

"I woke up this morning thinking about a quote. I can't seem to get it out of my head."

Dr. Alice White's eyebrow rose with mild interest and gave a smile that bordered on a mix between pity and amusement. "Was this after the nightmare?"

Tim sighed. He didn't mention his nightmare yet. He had it enough times, whether or not it happened wasn't much of a question. Still, Tim was getting more uncomfortable at her repeated attempts to talk about his nightmare as if it was the link to solving all his problems.

But she was the therapist, so maybe it was.

"Yeah. It was after."

Satisfied with the confirmation, Dr. White allowed him to continue with the thought. "What was the quote?"

"It was from Stephen Crane's The Open Boat" He paused to recollect the exact words. "_If I am going to be drowned, if I am going to be drowned, if I am going to be drowned, why, in the name of the seven mad gods who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far to contemplate sand and trees?_"

He expected her to write something down on her pad like she always did when something he said something she felt had to be noted. Instead, her pen only hovered over the paper as she considered the words.

"That is interesting," she concluded.

He kept rubbing the tips of his fingertips with his thumb as if trying to brush it clean. "Interesting? I don't think I like the sound of that."

"You spent several days lost in the desert, Mr. McGee. Your one and only priority was to find water. So why do you think your mind is now leading to thoughts about having too much water?"

"The quote's not about drowning," he defended. He moved to rub his head and stared at her in frustration.

She calmly stared back. "Then what is it about?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Wake up, McGee!"

Never one to ignore his boss, Tim's mind slowly became more conscious with each breath. He was first aware of the uncomfortable dryness in his mouth. Then, the slight pain of his entire body burning and the heavy heat as it dug deep into his lungs.

It was the feel of the sand between his fingers that made the awareness come rushing back.

His eyes shot open, then promptly shut against the glare of the sun.

"Oh, God!"

He rolled over and nearly breathed in a mouthful of sand in his efforts to get up.

"McGee!"

Hands grabbed hold of him to steady the jerky movements of his body, but they couldn't still the rapid panic coursing through his breath.

"No!"

He couldn't see beyond the filtered haze of the reddish sand. It was everywhere. No matter where he turned there was sand and cacti and bushes, and-

"Tim!"

The hands he forgot about moved to the sides of his head and he was forced into Leroy Jethro Gibbs' gaze. The sharp, blue eyes held him until the breath slowed and his body slumped back down into the sand.

"Sor-"

"McGee," Gibbs warned.

Right. No apologizing for any freak outs in the middle of nowhere.

One last deep breath and Tim was relatively ready to face the crisis.

"Wha-" Tim swallowed, trying to get rid of the gritty feel in his mouth.

It didn't work.

"What happened?" he croaked out.

Satisfied his agent was ready; Gibbs sat down besides him and studied their surroundings. "It looks like we got too close for comfort."

Right. Their latest case had leads in Las Vegas. Gibbs brought him along to ask some questions. They were walking back to their rental car when someone (or some ones) came at them from behind. Then, there was nothing but black.

Tim leaned over and brushed his hand at some of the tire marks left in the sand. He looked back in astonishment. "So, whoever killed Captain Euler decided to drive us out here and left us to die?"

Gibbs gave his version of a Gibbs-like shrug. "The killers don't like to get their hands dirty. Or maybe they wanted to distract us from the investigation." He pointed to a couple nearby bottles lying on their sides. They were mostly likely thrown out of the vehicle as an afterthought.

"There could be enough water to make it back…Or not. Either way, if we do die, they can claim our deaths were an act of nature."

"That's not very comforting, Gibbs."

"Wasn't meant to be."

Tim sighed and his head flopped down to his knees. "I can't," he announced. "I can't do this again. I can't die out here."

"Hey!"

The smack at the back of his head snapped him out of his dispiriting mood and into Gibbs' undivided attention.

"I promise you, McGee, I will get you out of here. You have my word on that."

The heat from the sun was no comparison to the passion of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.


	4. Chapter 4

"It's about surviving," he answered. "It doesn't matter how hard we work to stay alive. In nature, we're nothing. We live and we die. End of story."

The storm outside the office was picking up. The rain became more incessant against the side of the building, rushing the brick wall in waves. A rumble of thunder could be heard in the far distance.

Dr. White frowned. "But you survived. You didn't die and it's not the end of your story."

"I didn't s-" Tim stopped himself before his voice started to rise in anger. He took a breath and tried again. "I was just answering your question."

"Yes, you did."

This time, the doctor wrote something down. Tim leaned slightly but could only see the word 'death' before she moved the pad and placed it facedown on the table.

"So, do you think this quote is related in any way to your nightmare?"

So much for something new.

Tim slightly groaned and went back to gradually rubbing the palms of his hands together. "Which one?" he blurted out.

White's posture became stiff and her eyebrow rose even higher.

"I was under the impression that there was only one dream."

He really hadn't meant to reveal that much. Now she wasn't going to stop until he answered her. "It's… the same dream, but there are two endings."

"Okay, there's the ending you told me about. The dream with the rain."

"Yes, it starts to rain and that's when I always wake up," Tim clarified.

"Then what's the second dream?"

He hesitated in both the movement in his hands and his answer.

"The one when it doesn't rain at all."


	5. Chapter 5

Gibbs' first instruction was to find shade. To Tim, that made sense. Find shade and stay there until it gets cooler. The hotter you are, the more you sweat, the quicker you die.

Except now, Tim was trapped under the small shade of a rock outcropping with one of the most non-vocal man he knew. When they sat down, Tim predicted that the silence would be awkward.

It was.

Tim started to ramble about little things (Tony planning a movie night when they got back) and serious topics (his reaction to Ziva's return from the dead). He got a good hour in before Gibbs reminded him that they needed stay quiet to conserve water.

It was going to be a long day.

Except, it was even more disconcerting when Gibbs did talk.

"You said 'again'."

By that point, Tim was lying in the sand trying to shut his eyes against the scenery around him. "What was that, Boss?"

"You said 'you couldn't do this again'. You've been here before, McGee?"

Tim heaved himself to a sitting position and staying silent for quite awhile. His eyes weren't on Gibbs but he knew the man was patiently waiting for him to say something.

"I…yeah, I was. When I was twenty. Well, not here, here but probably somewhere a little south of here."

"What happened?"

Tim shrugged and pain from his stiff shoulders instantly made him regret the movement. "I was driving home to my parents in San Diego for a visit. I took a turn I thought was a short cut and my car broke down."

Tim stood up and, for once, calmly stared at the landscape surrounding them. "I didn't think anyone was going to find me where I was, so I grabbed what I had in the car. It which wasn't much; maybe some water and a first aid kit. And I started walking…. It took three days to get myself out. Two nights, I-um-"

He didn't know if it was his words or Gibb's hand on his shoulder that stopped him from continuing, but Tim looked away from the light blue of the desert sky to up to the calm blue in Gibb's eyes.

"The sun's starting to set," Gibbs explained. "We should start moving."

Tim nodded and silently gathered the water bottles together to start their journey.


	6. Chapter 6

"My aunt Ruth told me I was going to die in the desert."

Dr. White merely hummed as if she heard that fact a hundred times even though Tim was certain it was the first time he's mentioned it.

"When did she tell you this?" she asked.

"I think I was nine."

She paused from her notes and he caught the disbelief in her expression before professionalism took over and the objectivity settled back in.

"She also said I would find illumination there," he defended, although he didn't know why.

"Did you?"

"Did I, what?" Tim asked. He had to because he could have sworn she meant 'did you die?' and it didn't seem like her to ask that question.

"Did you find illumination?"

He thought about this for several minutes and then sadly smiled. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Do you believe your aunt's prophecy?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, she predicted that you would die and you didn't."

Tim merely shrugged. "I'm young. There's still time."


	7. Chapter 7

It was almost as if Time was stagnant here.

The sun barely moved in its decent towards the horizon and Tim had to stop several times in order to remind himself that, yes, he really was back in his nightmare.  
He watched as a brown lizard slid across the sand into the safety of a cactus' shade.

_Why, in the name-_

"McGee!"

Tim jumped at Gibbs yell. "Boss!"

He thought Gibbs was going to reprimand for the abrupt stop to stare at wildlife. He was even expecting it.

Instead, Gibbs studied him up and down and then frowned. "Have some water, McGee."

At his boss' command, Tim suddenly realized just how dry his mouth felt as he looked down to the half full water bottle in his hand. He tried hard to swallow through that dryness he felt settle in his throat and down to his stomach.

"I'll be fine."

Gibbs sighed and grabbed the water bottle from Tim's grasp. He twisted the cap off and held it up in between them.

"Drink."

"I'm fine."

"McGee."

"I'm not even sweating, G-"

With one hand, Gibbs grabbed Tim's shirt and pulled him a step closer to the bottle. "We both know that's not a good thing, McGee, so don't even try that with me," he growled.

"What about you? I've seen you drink less than I have."

"Marine. Came with the job."

Tim carefully took the bottle from Gibbs' hand. "We really should conserve the water."

"More people die out here with a full container of water than without. If you want to survive, take the drink, McGee."

The water felt hot as it went down his throat.


	8. Chapter 8

He was close enough to the window to see the rain fall, but it was his reflection in the glass that always drove him to distraction. It was still him, still Timothy McGee. And yet, he couldn't stop staring at the vast differences of this particular McGee looking back at him. His hair was lighter, his skin smoother and darker.

It was his eyes that betrayed the illusion before him. That, and the aches and pains in his joints and his back.

When did he become so old?

"Mr. McGee?"

Tim broke out of his thoughts and turned his attention back at the doctor. "I'm sorry. Where were we?"

White gave a pointed gaze at the window. "Do you want me to close the blinds?"

"No, it's fine…I'm fine…it's all…" He couldn't seem to find the right words anymore.

He was certain he was able to once.

"..fine."

"We are talking about blinds, right?" From the window to her patient, she considered her next words. "It's…okay to grieve."

The rush of emotions at the statement spiked into Tim's gut, lifted him to his feet and away from the doctor as she quickly leaned back in her chair from the movement. Suddenly embarrassed at the response, Tim tried to save face by walking closer to the window and actually watch the rain this time.

"Grieving is important part of recovery when you've faced death. I don't care how you do it. Cry, laugh, yell or," she threw her hand up as to throw the emotion away. "You can do nothing. Just as long as you don't deny that you're grieving right now."

Tim leaned his forehead against the cool glass. The storm was nearly on top of them now. He could feel the glass rattle and he couldn't tell if it was from the thunder's sound waves crashing into them or his own shaking body.  
He took in a very long, very sorrowful breath and let it out before his body could betray him further.

"There are much worst things in life than death," he told her, confident in that most certain fact.

"Like what?"

He doesn't answer.


	9. Chapter 9

Time wasn't measured by the sun or the moon.

The sun rose and it set and in between were stars.

It was all rather monotonous.

He remembered Gibbs telling him to sit down. He remembered being chilled against a fire that miraculously appeared. He remembered sunsets (sunrises?) with more colors than he could list in computer color codes. He remembered Gibbs pushing him up and moving. He remembered watching the satellites flying over his head in the clear, night sky and wondering if anyone was watching them up there.

Once, he remembered that these types of events had a precise order, but the sequence had long ago escaped him.

No, Time wasn't measured by the movement of the sun.

It was measured by water.

Three (or four) times, Tim caught Gibbs staring at the line in his bottle as it crept further down to the bottom. The worried frown didn't subside the two times Gibbs noticed Tim watching.

The first time, the water bottle was half full. Gibbs just shrugged and made Tim take another sip.

The second time, Gibbs didn't even argue when Tim refused to drink. The bottle was 1/6th full.

At 1/8th full, they saw a rock cropping in the distance. There wasn't much they could say (or hope); it was just another pile of rocks. As they got closer, they saw this particular rock cropping had greener and brighter vegetation. Without saying a word, the two men changed their direction.

It seemed like it took forever to get there, but it was worth it. By some miracle, they found a small waterhole sheltered under some desert willows. It was only a few feet wide and maybe a couple inches deep, but the water was clear and it was the lifeline they desperately needed.

Tim knelt down and placed his cupped hands into the water. The cool water, as it touched his skin, sent chills through his body.

Gibbs grabbed Tim's wrist as his head moved closer to the water's surface.

"Stop."

Tim stopped. A slight wheeze escaped his lips at the abrupt halt, but he didn't protest Gibbs sudden denial. He raised his head up and their eyes locked. He let his labored breathing ask the question his voice didn't have the strength to give.

_Why?_

Gibbs turned his head; his eyes going to something on the other side of the waterhole.

Tim didn't see it at first. The shade and the bushes had hidden the corpse from the man too intent on the water in front of him. It might have once been a coyote. Or a wild dog. Tim couldn't really tell what it was from where he knelt.

What was obvious was the dried, grey fur, crumbling off its mummified remains.

"It's too close to the water."

Tim's attention snapped back to Gibbs. It took him a few moments to link Gibbs' words to the regret in his voice. When it did, Tim's hands shook underneath the water.

"Boss, please."

It was all he could plead before Gibbs pulled his hands out and dried them the best he could with his sleeves.

"We can risk it! We'll die if we don't get something to drink soon," Tim tried to rationalize.

Gibbs held his hands tight to prevent him from going back. "If it didn't die from contaminated water, it certainly contaminated it now. We'll die if we drink, Tim."

Tim's eyes didn't have the water to spare for tears, but that didn't stop them from clouding up his vision. He gradually dropped his forehead against the sand so his mentor couldn't see the despair he truly felt.

He was inches away, just inches away, and he couldn't drink a drop.


	10. Chapter 10

"'_Why in name of the seven mad god, who rule the sea, was I allowed to come thus far to complicate sand and trees,_'" Tim repeated, letting the words roll off his tongue. His thumb subconsciously went back to rubbing the invisible grit off his hand.

"I have contemplated about 'sand and trees' a lot," he concluded. "I think that's why I have that particular quote in my head."

White tapped her fingers against the armrest. "'Sand and trees?'"

"Yes."

"That's an interesting theory. Why do you think that?"

"It makes the most sense."

"Okay, I can understand the 'sand' part, but why are you thinking about trees?"

Tim leaned forwarded as if he was about to impart a very important secret. White leaned in closer to hear it. "_If a tree falls in the woods and there's no one around to hear it, does it make a sound_?"

She carefully considered his words. "You think the quote is really about a riddle?"

He leaned back with satisfaction at the solution to his puzzle. "Of course."

"Why that riddle?"

Tim didn't say anything at first. He studied her and she stared back as she waited for an explanation on something he didn't know the answer to. "You haven't answered my question, doctor."

White leaned back as well, confused at this accusation. "To the riddle?" she clarified.

Tim nodded.

"Well," she drawled out, deep in thought. "It's a philosophical riddle about perception and reality, Mr. McGee. There really is no right answer."

Tim gave her a weary smile and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The shadows cast from the lights made the pale tint of the panels look almost grey.

"Then I guess I'll have to live with all the wrong answers."


	11. Chapter 11

"We're here."

Tim looked up in surprise. He was concentrating so much on moving his feet forward, he nearly ran into Gibbs when he suddenly stopped.

"What?"

Gibbs turned around. "We're here, McGee."

"Here?" Tim turned around as well and surveyed Gibbs' sudden stopping point. There was nothing that changed since they lost out here. It was the same rocks, shrubs and desolate sand.

It was all the same.

"Here where?"

That's when he heard it.

The loud rumble of thunder.

He turned around fast enough that his feet couldn't catch up with him and his knees fell hard against the sand. The painful bite of the sand was nothing compared to the horrid, stabbing pain he felt in his stomach as he saw the dark clouds coming up behind Gibbs.

"What? Gibbs, what-" The words came gasping out, but even he could barely hear them over the pounding in his chest.

Gibbs calmly knelt down into the sand with him and firmly placed his hands on Tim's shoulders. Tim's hands instantly went to Gibbs' grip in order to steady himself against the physical and mental pain rolling over him.

"McGee, I made you a promise. I gave you my word I would get you out of here."

"I-I heard you," Tim stuttered out. "But we- we're not out. We're still here!"

"_You're _here. And not for long."

"I don't-"

"Yes, you do understand."

The cactus on his left was familiar. The rock behind Gibbs was so close to the edge of his memories, he nearly cried out in pain at the familiarity of it.

"Our job was to keep you alive. Me, Abby, Tony, Ziva, Ducky, even Palmer and Kate. _All_ of us were with you to keep you moving."

"This isn't real," Tim stated. It was the only explanation. It _had_ to be the only explanation.

"No, this is real. This is very real. Survival is all mental, Tim. You needed to protect your mind from the heat, so you created us to guide you. We gave you rules, we gave you purpose and we kept you sane though it."

Gibbs must have let go at some point because Tim felt the rest of his body moving towards the ground. His whole body immersed with the sand beneath him.

"I don't feel very sane right now, Gibbs," he whispered into the sand.

"Your ride's here, Tim. You don't have to be sane anymore."

Tim pushed himself to roll over onto his back so he could see the grey clouds rolling in above him. Gibbs wasn't around anymore and Tim just didn't have the energy to care. Not anymore.

Instead, he closed his eyes and waited for the rain; whether it was three days, ten years, or a lifetime away.

He flinched at the first drop on his face. After that, it was simple to let the grief overtake him. Life as Special Agent Timothy McGee was over.

The end was raw, it was harsh, and it was washed in drops of rain and tears.

The thundercloud's low rumbles turned into the distant thumping of helicopter blades.


	12. Chapter 12

It was almost as if Time was stagnant here.

Tim McGee pulled the collar of his coat up as he staggered out of the doctor's office and into the rain.


	13. Chapter 13

Lt. Nathan McGee combed the rain out of his speckled grey hair as he walked into the small bar. He was a proud man; an obvious fact if anyone was to take one look at his military stance and the fire in his hazel eyes. He was a man who lived many hard years and stood tall against every single one of them.

At a table against the window, under the haze of cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes, was a sight Nathan never expected to see.

"I would have never figured you as the bourbon type, son."

His son, one more prone to diving into computers with absolute glee than anything alcoholic, only snorted into the glass in front of him. "There are a lot of things about me that may surprise you, Dad."

Nathan took that as an invitation and signaled the bartender for a glass to share with his son's bottle before he took a seat at the table. "My memory may be getting a bit dimmer with my old age, but I could have sworn you were still under aged."

"I'll be twenty one in seven months. I'm just getting a head start."

Nathan kept silent. The bartender came by with the ordered glass and Nathan watched Tim carefully between sips. His son's glazed eyes watched the rain fall outside the window. He didn't say anything but Nathan expected that much from him. He poured himself a drink instead.

He knew his son. He would talk when he's ready.

Finally, Tim directed his gaze back to his father and he put the glass back on the table.

"I'll be fine," Tim reassured.

It was Nathan's turn to snort into his glass. "Will you? I'm worried about you. We all are."

"Let me ask you, Dad. If a tree-?" Tim stopped and rethought his question. "If… a man dies in the desert and there's no one there to see him live, then did he really live?"

"Is this what you've been asking your therapist?"

Tim shrugged. "Something like that. I don't think therapy is working. Maybe I should stop going."

"Son-"

"It's just that…I'm still there, Dad. I'm still in the sand and very lost and I… I just don't know who I am or where I'm going anymore."

"Yes."

"Yes to what?"

"That's my answer. A man can't die unless he's lived. And you're a smart boy. You'll use that sharp mind to find a way home."

_I promise you, McGee, I will get you out of here. You have my word on that. _

His dad poured them both another drink and Tim didn't respond back. He was too distracted at the rain and the boy staring back at him in the glass. In time (if time ever moved again),Tim will find himself grieving like he should, wailing against the unfairness of losing what he never had in the first place.

Ten years. Ten odd years of a life that never happened.

There were worst things in life than death.

Tim raised his glass as if toasting the reflection in the glass and downed the rest of his drink.


End file.
